His eyes were shut, and from under his eyelids tears were trickling one after another.

They coursed down his cheeks into his moustache.

Foma's lips quivered convulsively, and the tears fell from his moustache upon his breast.

He was silent and motionless, only his chest heaved unevenly, and with difficulty.

The merchants looked at his pale, tear-stained face, grown lean with suffering, with the corners of his lips lowered downward, and walked away from him quietly and mutely.
And then Foma remained alone, with his hands tied behind his back, sitting at the table which was covered with dirty dishes and different remains of the feast.